“Is your mother in danger?” Croi thinks of the Robber Queen with her pale cheeks and her black magick.

“My mother accepted the sins of my grandfather so he could die. She suffers in his place, and until she has paid her due in pain, no one will be able to kill her,” Irial replies flatly. “Blood spilled in the center of the Caisleán has consequences.”

“You have no such protection!” Croi looks at Irial in panic.

Mabh will kill him.

Croi grabs Irial’s hand. “You should leave the Caisleán right now. Escape while you still can.”

The lips Croi is an ardent admirer of quirk too bitterly to be a smile. “I guess both you and I are in for a number of difficult days.”

“My death is a certainty, but yours need not be,” Croi says. “You should live for me. Live hard and live free. Live. Find…” She stops abruptly.

Love? I didn’t know our heart was so accepting.

“Shut up.”

“Find love,” Croi says, even though she’d much rather he didn’t. “Perhaps you and that fae maid can be together after all this is over.” And I’m not here.

Irial looks at Croi with eyes that feel like they are looking through her words right into the part of her where she stores things that she can’t say out loud. She looks away from him, not comfortable with his gaze.

“Do you mean that?” he asks, smiling slightly.

“No.” Croi shakes her head promptly, then laughs. “I’m being absurd. Who you love has nothing to do with me. I just hope you will live a long and happy life. As your friend, what more could I wish for?”

“If you can think of me, why can’t I do the same for you?” Irial demands. “I can’t leave my mother to face what’s coming all by herself. I won’t leave you, either.”

Do you believe him?

Croi stares at the fae prince, confused by the feelings currently holding her heart captive. He, lit by moonlight and magick, is somber and earnest. She ducks her head, once again grappling with feelings she doesn’t have the time for.

“All right.” She finally shrugs. “You have the right to make your decisions.” She looks at Irial, silhouetted against the heavens, his curls blowing in the wind, his eyes deep, and his face determined. Sorrow realizes itself in a tremor in her beleaguered heart. Croi musters up a smile. “As beautiful as this place is, I’m hungry. Shouldn’t you feed me?” Spending time alone with the prince makes her keenly aware of all the impossibilities she is pursuing.

The smile Irial gives her in return is lighter. “Of course. Let’s go.” Irial reaches out and takes her hand again, and one dizzy moment later they’re on a cobbled path in a different part of the Caisleán from where they left.

They haven’t taken more than five steps, however, when Irial is stopped by five Talamh soldiers. Croi recognizes two of them and stiffens. Caolan and Daithi, dressed in the dark green uniform of the Talamh soldiers, stand stoically among the other soldiers and don’t give any indication they’re familiar with her. The catkin, however, is not as able to control his expressions as Daithi and gives her a closer look.